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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

3ij|t^ng]^t f 0. 

Shelf _. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



/ 



INGECOPO, 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



INGECOPO, 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



Bv TUDOK WILLIAMS 



BROOKLYN : 

Tremlett & Co., Printers. 326-3.30 Fulton Street. 
1879. 






Entfrcd according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879. 

By T. WILLIAMS. 

In tlie Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



^ 



|o Si. 



- i 

THESE PACtES 

ARE 

AEFECTIONATELV DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Ingecopo, 9 

Lord Ronald's Fate, 88 

The Rustic Maiden, ... 8i( 
The Drowned Fisherman, .41 
The Sai}b.\th Chimes, ... .45 

The Convict, 40 

Sleep, 'A 

My Haunt, 5o 

The Lonely Grave, 5(i 

A Ghasti>y Dream, . . (il 

To the Sea, fi:3 

Song, (>0 

The Old Maple, (j8 

Sorrow's Mockery, 6i) 

We Watched the Cows A-grazino, ... TO 

The Dying Miner, 73 

Apple Blossoms, 79 

Unsatisfied, 80 

Unanswered, 82 



VI. COKTEN'fS. 

PAGE. 

My Daughter, ... 85 

Upon the Sea, 8(5 

The Dirge of Red Robin, 81) 

The Unlifted Veil i»l 

Ye Thoughts of Man 92 

How Canst Thou be Wretched, d'S 

The C!oming Storm, 5)5 

Decoration Day, <)0 

Spring, J)8 

Worse than Poverty, 9!) 



PRELUDE. 

While winds go crooning o'er the lea, 
While brooks meander murmuringly, 
While warblers pipe in air and tree, 
Let not my poor voice silent be, 
I, too, must sing. 

Sing from the fullness of my heart, 
Sing though I break the forms of art ; 
Whatever love and joy impart. 
Or e'en the troubled bosom's smart, 
Tliat let me sing. 

Though mine be no ^Eolian strain. 
Though brooks with sweeter voice complain, 
Though w^arblers shame my rude refrain, 
Though naught but slights my song obtain, 
Yet will I sing. 



-^^1 




INGECOPO. 

A Le<rciid of Lake Austin. 

Ingecopo, last of red men, 
Steals beside his nativ*^ lake, 

Of the forests and the mountains 
Final, fond farewell to take. 

Ingecopo, sole survivor 

Of the tribe of Powhican ; — 

They fell victims of the pale-face, 
He ahme lives — under ban. 



Once their numbers, like the leaflets 
Of the forest, tilled the land. 

But they d^^4ndled fast and surely 
'Neath the harsh invader's hand. 



10 INGECOPO. 

Thus he only, scorned and hated. 
Roams his people's lost domain. 

Hunted l)y the vengeful white man 
Till he also shall be slain. 



Stealthy as a fox that ventures 
From his covert to the niooi-, 

Ingecopo leaves Ids Id ding, 
Indian okl and sad and poor ; 

Gazes on the glorious kingdom, 
Once his naticm's since the sun 

First rose in the East and ever 
Since the wayward rills had run ; 

Gloats, with all the fierce affection 
Of a wariior for his bride, 

On the goodly land, and feels him 
Swell and glow with ancient pride 



INCKCOl'o. 11 

Deems liimself oiire more a ehieftnin 

Of n tried and warlike race, 
Leadei', not dethroned nor exiled, 

Ruling- with a kin<2,-ly grace. 

Fail- is that uncultured landscape; 

With its nii,uht>- hills that snnte 
Like javtdins the heaven's bosom 

Where the clouds are tloatini;- white ; 

Draperied in densest forests 

That forever iiourish green, 
All their sombre vistas murmui-ing 

Fi-oni the streams that rush between ; 

Trackless woods, where strays the panther, 
Where survive the bear and deer, 

Where the whooping of the Indian 
Once resounded glad and clear. 



12 INGECOPO. 

Glassy lies the limpid lakelet, 
Stirless in the suminer noon ; 

Idle zephyrs all are sleeping 
That make gentle ripples eroon. 

In the bine the eagle circles 
Lazily withont a scream ; 

Snowy swans far oflP are floating- 
Like the vision of a dream. 

Pai-adise of Ingecopo ! 

Rnthless the despoiling fate 
Which stands forth Avitli Haming menace, 

A grim angel at the gate. 

Nevermore will he dare claim it — 
Eden once that fruitful gave 

Every sweet barbarian bounty, 
Now can prolfer but a grave. 



TNCiKCOPO. VI 

(ione are all tlie iiobic masters 
Who this realm of l)eanty kei)t. 

Scores of moons have shone and faded 
Since within the mold they sle])t. 

Ontlawed, lonely Ino'eeopo 

Joys and glories past lives o'er, 

Sitting like a dismal spectre 
On the lakelet's rocky shore. 

Then the tall trees hear him moaning ; 

Soft their branches whisi)er woe ; 
And the waters seem to answer 

With a murnrur hoarse and low. 

Tn mid-heaven the eagle flutters, 

Screams as if before the blast, 
While the swimnnng swans in terror 

Foaming waves behind them cast. 



14 INGECOPO. 

Buried in his tattered mantle, 
Bendino- low liis a^'ed head, 

Tngecopo, deeply mourning, 
Seems a statue stiff and dead. 

Passive as the rocks heneath him, 
In his stern old soul he grieves 

With the quenchless, choking sorrow 
Which no wail nor tear relieves. 

To no sound he seems to hearken. 
Care of danger shows he none. 

But he wraps his face in darkness, 
Nature's sore-despairing son. 

On the boughs the curious squirrels 
And the birds gaze on his form ; 

And the restless little fishes 
Nigh the shore's edge wondering swarm. 



iN'GKropo. 15 

Vainly freshened winds and Avnvelets 
Strive his stolid soul to rouse ; 

'I'ill the orl) of day is settinii' 
Ingecopo mourns and bows ; 

Till al)ove the western summits 
The spent flame of dayliuht burns 

Like a eand1e\s dying fliekei-. 

Brightening as the earth it tuiiis 

To a globe of mellow s])lendor, 
While the forests, tipped with fire, 

(xhxmiier grows within their arches, 
Like cathedrals when expire 

All the dazzling rows of tapers 
Set before a worship2)ed shrine ; 

And the hills throw lengthening shadows 
O'er the waters dark as wine. 



K; INtiECOPO. 

Tnge('( )})(), wilt tlioii lieed not ! 

Look without thy blanket's folds ! 
For a phantom bark ai>pi'oa,ches 

Which a hostile yjale-face holds. 

Will thy deaf ears never listen 
To the j)addle\s plashing blade '. 

Dost thou now not hear the ripples 
By the keel's impnlsion made { 

Swiftly oVr the twilight surface 
Glides the hunter's light canoe ; 

Flee, O tlee, old Ingecopo, 
Else this hour thy soul shall rue. 

Slowly, like one rudely startled 
From deep sleexVs benumbing hold, 

IngecojDo's dull orbs open. 
Threatened peril to behold. 



iN(n-:('OP(). 

All too late, for on the gravel 
Grates the boat, the foe leaps out ; 

Ere the chieftain has bestirred him 
Eings tlie white mans angry shout: 

'Ha, thou cunning, wrinkled red-skin. 

Has Will Wildwood found thee here ^ 
Now by all the scalps of white men 
Thou hast filched, 'twill cost thee deai'. 

'I will grant thee but an instant 

For appeal to Manitou ; 
This is Christian, not thy merit, — 
Thou who did'st thy hands imbrue 

'Oft in blood of men and women. 
Sons and daughters white of hue; 
Whom thy tribe assailed, remorseless, 
And the shrinking creatures slew 



18 INGECOPO. 

"Without space to breathe a prayer, — 
Butchering them, as wolves do prey 
On the lambkins in the sheep fold, 
AVhen the shepherd's far away. 

''Chant thee, savage, chant thy death-song. 
For thine honr is snrely come." 
But the chieftan stands before him 
Tall, majestical and dumb ; 

With a dignity imperial. 
As of one born to command, 

Steadfast eyes that gaze unflinching, 
And a mien comj^josed and grand. 

Then the fierce impulsive hunter, 
Before one he erst would name 
"Vermin" and "debased barbarian" 
Drooi:)s his glance in awe and shame. 



INGECOPO. 19 

Keenly strirkeii in liis conscience, 

Grows his restive fnry tame ; 
Harmless drops the fatal hammer, 

Swerves the loaded barrel's aim. 

Conld one shoot his own old father ? 

Conld he slay a fallen king ^ 
This grim chief, thns lone and stately, 

Snrely is no sonlless thing. 

For a moment stand they silent, 
Like two figures wrought of stone ; 

Then the chieftain finding utterance 
Speaks in harsh and lofty tone. 

Ugh, thou babe that wields a firearm. 
Dost thou fear to hear its noise? 

I am but an unarmed red-man 
To be overcome by boys. 



20 IXOECOPO. 

"I am in my middle dotage, 
My limbs totter, I am frail ; 
Before tliis old withered chieftain 
Weaponed warrior need not qnail. 

""Hasten then, thon tool of vengeance, 
Swift thy slanghtering piece explode ; 
What, and dost thon shrink from mnrder 
When defiance I've bestowed 'i 

'•'Tis most trne, they were intruders 
On my lands wdiom I have slain ; 
Does the white man think of justice 
AVlien revenge alone he'd gain i 

''Strike me down; why be a woman. 
Weak, inert and mercy-filled ; 
Only spare mine age the torture 
And my blood w^ere better spilled. 



IN(iEC'OlH). :il 

'Aye, I pray thee, speed thy i:)urpose ; 

Kill the Indian ehief foriorn, 
AVho but wislies death may hurry. 
Who laments thy laggard scorn. 

Haste, I \v\ve no squaw to mourn me, 

Nor a daughter to deph)re, 
Nor a son that might avenge me. 

Nor one brave of all of yore. 

' I am useless ; what perverseness 
'Twere for this half -rotted tree 

To claim favor of the woodsman ; 
Let the axe hew swift at me. 

'AVherefore standest thou thus halting^ 

Time is wasted ; yonder see. 
Night is seated on the mountains ; 
Let my niiiht fall gkxmiily." 



^- INGECOPO. 



Grandly thus speaks Ingecopo, 
And the speech his foeman stings; 

Pained and penitent, Will AVildwood 
On tlie sward his weapon tlings ; 

And he cries, "O chief, I've sought thee 
• Night and day for many a moon, 
And I've vowed that I Avould smite thee 
Nor allow a moment's boon. 

"For thy tribe did work me damage 
Such as never man forgets ; 
Still the blood of sire and mother 
The stained forest-carpet wets. 

"But I now undo my vowino-. 
Now I l)id thee go as free 
As the eagle in the cloudland, 
And o'ei'look thy wrongs to me. 



INGECOPO. 23 

''Sagamore, thy noble nature 

I admire ; hencefortli shall end 
All onr strife and evil feeling, 
And I'll seek thee to befriend. 

''Shall I dare to quench, revengeful, 
This old life that heaven has spared 
Through all wars and feuds and troubles. 
When all died who with thee shared >. 

"Nay, high heaven I know forbids it. 
And its mandates I'll obey, 
Be they written on book's pages 
Or enstamped on heart of clay. 

"Chieftain, forai we here a treaty ; 
Thou from bitterness shaft cease ; 
I will through the land proclaim thee 
One with all men now at peace. 



INGECOPO. 

"So on tliy declining footsteps 
Shall no hound of rage i)nrsue ; 
Thou shalt bide disputeless monarch, 
Though thy subjects be but few. 

''Deemest thou the mighty spirit 

Loves these heated strifes of men ? 
Will he welcome thee the sooner 
That thine old age could not ])en 

" Violence within thy l)osom i 

Nay, bethink thee, henceforth dwell 
Peacefully, and when thou diest 
Manitou shall j)raise thee well."' 

Heaves the chieftain's rugged boscmi. 
And his stoic firmness yields, 

K'en like ice when winds of spring-time 
Breathe upon the frozen fields. 



INGECOPO. 

And a down his bronzed visage 
Fall tlie tears, as does the rain 

When a sudden clond sweej^s over 
Drenching- all the dusty i)lain. 

And he utters through the passion 
Which an instant chokes his voice 

His assent in l^roken accents 
And of amity makes choice. 

And he swears by yon Great Spirit, 
Ruler of the earth and air. 

That the white man is his kinsman, 
Born and sealed unto him there. 

Manitou who made the heavens, 
Manitou who made them both, 

Hears their friendly protestations. 
Pours a blessing on their oath. 



36 INGECOPO. 

Then speaks Ingecopo : ''White man. 
When our wigwams filled the wood 

They scarce left these boles a circle 
To expand, so close they stood. 

"Bnt the chieftain's state departed 
'Fore fire fluid and fire-arm; 
Now he hides him in a cavern, 
Like the beasts whom men alarm. 

''But I'll still invite my brother 
To the red-man's frugal feast, 
And my couch of skins, my brother. 
Shall be thine till flames the East. 

"Be it so, my Indian father," 

Wildwood answers full of glee, 

"Nor could all the wide world offer 
Truer hospitality." 



INGECOPO. 

Saying so liis vessel hirclien 
High lie bears upon the strand ; 

Follows then old Ingecopo, 

With a spirit pleased and bland. 

In recesses of the mountain, 
Where the bonlders wildy strewn 

Are with thickets dense of hemlock 
And repellent briers o'ergrown, 

Ingecopo has his dwelling, 
Like a panther' s secret lair ; 

Scarce the keenest-eyed backwoodsman 
E'er conld trace him hidden there. 

There they feast like loyal comrades, 
Smoke the jjeaceful bowd of stone, 

Slnmber night-long void ot hatred 
Till the gloomy shades have flown. 



;28 INGECOPO. 

Brotherly at morn their j^arting — 
One to seek the haunts of men 

To relate his curious story ; 
One to hover nigh his den 

Till such time as fate shall kindly 
Clip life's weak, abraded thread. 

And the name of Ingecoj)o 

Shall be numbered with the dead. 

But there troubles not the chieftain 
Any man from this time on ; 

Safe he dwells unquestioned sovereign, 
Though his barbarous pomp is gone. 

For Will Wildwood is his champion 
Henceforth and he loudly swears 

Vengeance on whoe'er disturbs him, 
So each bloody foe forbears. 



INGECOPO. 29 

And the settlers multiplying, 

Like the sands beside the sea. 
Hold the sachem in their pity 

And aye treat him reverently. 

Thus he bides in lonesome honor 

Till his regal frame is bent, 
Like tlie bow he scarce can handle 

Since his manly strength is spent. 

Till his hair that once ilowed darkly 
Down his shoulders turns as white 

As the swan's unspotted i^liimage, 
And his orbs have lost their sight. 

Weak, decrepit, ever yearning 
For an arm of strength to trust, 

Praying to the Mighty Spirit 
To uplift him from the dust, 



30 INGECOPO. 

Dies at last old Ingecopo, 

Yet not ere lie learns the truth, 

Knows of heaven and a deliverer, 
And repents him of his youth. 

Dies, and all the people mourn him 

As if they had lost a sage, 
Or their own acknowledged ruler 

Who had ne'er provoked their rage. 

Tn the dimness of his grotto 
Take his bones their final rest, 

Walled from man's and beasf s intrusion. 
While his soul is truly blest. 

Tn the summerland of heaven. 
Mingling with his race and kin, 

Tngecopo dwells full hap2)y. 

Freed from war and woe and sin. 



INGECOPO. 31 



Ye who seek the shores of Austin, 
Standing by its crystal wave, 

'Neath the over-arching hemlocks. 
Pay a tribute at his grave. 

Shed not drops of emjoty sorrow, 
Waste no sighs upon the air. 

But, with spirit shamed, remember 
His slain people's fatal snare. 

And then render to the Indian 
Meed of Justice due a man 

Who fought bravely for his birthright 
While his vital currents ran. 



32 INGECOPO. 

Sturdy Indian ! tvnly patriot, 
Though as tiger wild and fierce ; 

Barbarous, savage and untutored, 
Mercy scarce his soul could pierce ; 

Yet unto the latest ages 
Shall his manful battle ring. 

Shaming craven heirs of freedom 
Feebly to their rights that cling. 



LOIH) KONALD's fate. '^o 



LORD RONALD^ 8 FATE. 

What is it ails my lady T" the servini>- inaiden 

cried, 
And gazed with awe and angiush on the soiely 

weeping bride ; — 
Her robe was in disorder, hei- lu-idal wreatli was 

torn ; — 
■Decked bravely t'oi- hei- wedding Avhy slioiild 

my ladv mourn i 



Is not your lovei' noble and brave and kind and 

true ( 
Why all the maids ai-e ])ining with envying of 

you ; 
indeed, my darling lady, if now you moan and 

weep. 
The halls of peace celestial would 1)h a dungeon 

keep. ' ' 



•M LOUD Ronald's fate. 

•'My Ronald sooth is nolile and trne and brave 
and kind, 

His equal in all England ye never more shall 
find ; 

My groom is all I wish him, and yet, misgiving- 
heart, 

There is a woe upon me that will not e'ei* 
depart ; 

' • For T ' ve a dark foreboding of something tha t 
is ill. 
And many gloomy fancies my sombre bosom 
fill/' 

O cheer ye up, my lady, this mood will surely 

pass ; 
' Tis much the same at weddings with every 

tender lass. 



•^ But sooth 'twill all be over as quickly as the 
word 
Prcmouncing you a matron your gladdened ears 
have heard ; 



LORD KONALD'S FATE. 3*) 

"Then, when in all the steeples the joyous chimes 
shall ring, 
Their peals and Ronald's kisses sure happiness 
shall bring/' 

But the lady lonely, only sadly shook her head, 
Nor by her maiden's soothing would she be 
comforted ; — 
"Alas! a cloud has risen amid the pleasant sky. 
Tlip wind is wildly sighing, an evil storm is nigh." 

Out from his castle Ronald has ridden with 

his train ; — 
Such fair j^omp of chivalry is ne'er to l)e again : 
Through forest and o'er moorland, to reach his 

waiting bride. 
He spurs his mettled charger that l)ounds along 

in pride. 

"(to not so fast, Lord Ronald, noi' leave youj' 
trusty l)and 
Im])atient far behind you in such a troubled 
land ; 



•)»i LOUD Ronald's fate. 

For vengeful foes are lurkinii" in coverts by the 

way, 
And cruel weapons thirsting a noble h)r(l to 

slay.- 

"Fear not, my good lieutenant, the cravens will 

not dare 
Aught save to scowl at Ronald, like Avolves 

within their lair ; 
Have I not scourged them soundly and broke 

theii* bloody pack '. 
\ do defy the vengeance of the curs upcm my 

track/"' 

Tlie golden sun is setting and through the fo- 
liage streams 

The weird and mellow radiance of day's depart- 
ing lieams ; 

Within the woods the warblers are twittering 
good-night, 

And 'mid the solemn vistas strange phantoms 
meet the siaht. 



LOKD no:XALD S FATE. -) <' 

The retinue are awe-struck ; yet, ere they inter- 
cede, 

Lord Ronald flies before them on his impetuous 
steed ; 

Into the gh)om lie enters, as one would pierce 
the grave, 

And leave the world forever, and as one mad 
he drave. 



Come, cursed laggarts, hasten your lord to 

overtake, 
Ere sounds of fearful conflict the woodland 

quiet wake ; 
Ere Ronald in the onset l)efore his foes shall 

fall. 
And sorrow seize his lady and i-uin seize us 

all.'' 

Then through the night they gallop as on a, 

field of war, 
To seek their reckless leader who leaveth them 

afar ; 



'^8 LOED KONALD's J^ATE. 

They loudly wind the bugle and raise the 
cheery shout, 

And from the dangling scabbards their sharp- 
ened swords leap out. 

'I\)() late, too late their succor, for, in the deej)- 

ening shade. 
Beside a moaning rivulet a stalwart form is 

laid ; 

"Tis Ronald, and his life-blood commingles with 

the flow 
Of tlie dark sti'eamlet's waters gurgling notes 

of woe. 



Bastard hands had smote liim careless and 

waylaid ; 
Tlius with tlie day his lady's enchanting visions 

fade ; 
Her heart will lu-eak with mourning; too well 

did it forbodc 
That misery was coming along Lord Ronald's 

road. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN. 3!) 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN. 

A merry maiden hastened to a field 
Where grew the daisies in a sea of white 
That almost drowned the greenness of the grass ; 
And where the wind bestirred their nodding 

heads, 
Till all the space was an inland lake 
Whose rippling waters green wear crests of 

foam. 
Straightway she plucked a modest, star-like 

ilower, 
And bent awhile her soft and dreamy gaze 
Ux)on its heart of gold ; and then essayed 
With its white rays a divination sweet. 
With dainty hand she tore the petals out 
And fiung them to the ground. 'Twas ''yes" 

and "no" 



40 THE RUSTIC 3IAIDEN. 

Her sweet lips framed to solve the half-felt 
doubt 

AVhether she was beloved. ''A lover's vows 

I will not trust," she said; "They're often 
false ; 

Thus shall I know if I am truly loved ; 

Pure blossom fair ])e thou my oracle." 

And so she tried her simple au^i-ury. 

Till at the last a sini^le j)^tal left 

Gave answer plain that lilled her heart with 
peace ; 

And thence she went, red-lipped and I'osy- 
cheeked, 

Her ])ure heart ,i>:laddened and her spirit free 

Of d()ul)ts and strivings ; with her faith re- 
newed. 

And at her feet the murmurinii- gTasses waved. 

And all about the loving warblers sang 

Such ditties l)lithe as charmed lier rustic soul. 



THE DKOWNEl) FISHERMAN. 41 



THE DROWNED FISHERMAN. 

Pale as the hue of the dead was her face, 
And dim as the orbs of the dead her eyes. 
Her heart stood still in its chamber a space, 
And over her features there froze apace 
A look of horror and fierce surprise. 



She was as if stone 'neath the cold grey sky, 
Her hands clutching hard o'er her heart were 

pressed, 
As if to repress an unquenchable cry, 
That fain would leap out and bear up on high 
All the aii'ony wild of her breast. 



42 TTn-: duowned fisiieuman. 

The sea roared lioarse on the rock-iibbed shore, 
And tlie wind blew snllenly past her, 
The sea birds wailed as they winged them o'er 
"There's a bark on the reef that shall sail 

no more ; 
'Tis ended, and so is its master." 

The tishernien pansed with their lifeless load 
Whence the sea-brine dripped on the sands ; 
A braver mariner never had rode 
The wild-tossed waves, or a deck ever strode. 
Than him they bore stiff in their hands. 

Silent they stood as a gronx) of clay, 
Their i-ags fluttering loose in the breeze ; 
They seemed like murderers bringing their prey 
Penitent back and grieved they did slay 
The victim their vena-eance did seize. 



THE DKOAVNEl) FISHEKMAX. 4:! 

What is this that ye ])ring from the waves to 

me, — 
This moveless and stark and watery thini;- i 
'Tis not he, nay snrely, it cannot be 
Tlie corpse of my man from the jaws of the sea. 
Thus shamefaced and guilty ye bring." 

Al)ashed by the force of her frenzied grief. 

Uneasy and speechless they stand ; 

Till their leader speaks forth rude words and 

brief, 
Yet kindly meant for her souFs relief, 
As she glowered ujion the band. 

AVe found him, missus, on the waves afloat. 
The stalwart sport of the tide, 
All wrecked and sunken his faithless l)oat. 
While the l)illows over his death did gloat, 
Like sharks in their hungry pride. 



44 Tin-: r.ijowxED p^ishekmax. 

•"Ahis, \\ii;it ;i loss'' — but he stojiped liiiii there. 
He h;i(l hiokeii her woe's stony spell ; 
A slij-ielv I'jin^- foi'tli on the trembling iuv. 
The face of the dead was all blown bare. 
And beside it her own face fell. 

Fn vain have they lifted u\) her form. 
Her lieai-t l)eats not and liei- breath is still : 
Ah. fatal throe of a wife's love warm I — 
Two souls have joined in the lowering storm. 
And their Ixxlies one sepnlchre till. 



THE SABBATH CHIMES. 45 



THE SABBATH CHIMES. 

The Sal)l)ntli cliinies are rinuing-, 
With sweet and solemn peal, 

The tunes we twain were sin<>;in<>- 
In the (lays when thou wert leal. 

A Veil T recall oui- courting 

On many a Sabbath eve. 
When sunset hues <lisx)orting 

A glory fail- did weave. 

But gone are now tlie days of yoic. 

And gone thy tickle love; 
The sunset skies are fair no moj-e, 

And (diimes a discord prove. 



4t> TJIE co^vrcT. 



THE CONVICT. 

'Tis midnight, and the placid moon 
That o'er the heights mnst vanish soon. 
\Vith tender, mystic brilliance shines 
O'er mountains dark with rustling pines. 
And o'er the valley nestling low, 
Where limjud streams like silver show : 
And brightly does her mellow tire 
Light up each tree and roof and spire 
With glittering beauty till they seem 
Like carven shapes; nor e'er could gleam 
A Paradise more mild and fair 
Than the lit landscape stretching there. 
So still and solemn 'neath the skies. 
As if the moonlight petrifies. 



'I'lIK {ONVICT. 4; 

While (/er its marble splendor lies 

The deep, unbi'oken luisli of niii'lit 

When soothing- sleep puts care to tii.ulit. 

U])on his hard, uneasy conch, 

Behold the wakeful prisoner crouch. 

Like some wild, fettered beast tliat strains 

Kebellious 'gainst its galling chains. 

All sleepless since the set of sun. 

He counts his moments one by one. 

For life bnt till the morn shall run, 

And then he dies a felon's fate, 

A bloody deed to exjoiate. 

To cleanse away the dreadful stain 

(3f a fellow-mortal rudely slain ; 

A victim of the righteous law 

That strikes the evil heart wiih awe. 

The network of the iron bars, 

Seen 'gainst the moon like dismal scars. 

Her bright, unclouded visage mars ; 



4<S TIIK COWK'l'. 

Some broken, str;iii<ilin<i- rays invade. 
But scarcely tint the ceir s deep shade ; 
He hears without the light wind's moan. 
The brooklet's ouriilinn' monotone; 
Then, piercing clear the walls oi' stone, 
He hears the distant chapel bell 
Tolling the hour, and knows his knell 
Ere long the same stern notes shall ring- 
When in the grave his corpse they Hing 
With harsh contempt; and then he heai's 
A sound tliat wakes a thousand fears ; 
Half -muffled by the prison wall, 
He lists the workmen's hammers fall 
With a didl thud, and yet so plain. 
He writhes in agonizing pain. 
As step by step the scaffold's built. 
Where he must pay the dues of guilt. 
Most strange and cliilling terrors seize 
His sinking heart ; his nerveless knees 



THE CONVICT. 49 

Beat each 'gainst other as he tries 

From off his I'estless bed to rise, 

And totters, trembling, o'er the floor, 

While the cold sweat floAvs from each pore. 

Unto the moonlight streaming in 

He lifts his visage, haggard, thin, 

Wrinkled and seamed ; unkemj^t his hair, 

And in his eyes a madman's glare; 

And as his wretched frame does shake, 

A ghastly fignre does he make. 

So near his ignominions end. 

He owns not e' en a single friend ; 

No heart shall soitow when he's dead, 

Nor to his nari'ow, lowly bed 

Beneath the sward make 2:)ilgTimage 

To monrn and weep ; none need assuage 

Their grief for him ; he dies at morn ; 

His transient name shall live in scorn 

Some fleeting days, and then no more 



THE CONVICT. 

Mis nieniorv last. It girds liim sore 

'IV) tliiiik how lovelessly the worhl 

Dismisses hini to torments hurled ; 

And yet the wliole wide world he hates. 

As shiverino- now his (lo;)m he waits, 

His fears oVi-whelm him as a tiood. 

And as n tiger thirsts for Mood, 

Fie thirsts to live. Bnt one more day 

And qualving dreiid might ])ass away 

And leave him brave, his spirit steeled. 

More ready nnto fate to yield. 

Bnt now, abjectly as a worm, 

Which 'neath the heavy heel does s(|nii-nK 

He quivers in his hopeless throes, 

Yet would not have his life to close. 

Oh, bnt to live ! at any price ! 

E'en but to live! It would suffice, 

Though weighed with chains, prisoned alone 

Within these walls of thickest stone ; 



THE CONVICT. 

To slum fnvliile the stillinn' grave, 
He'd live a scorned and beaten slave; 
Aye, no condition more severe 
C<nild be than this api^allino- fear. 
His eves g'o wildly glancing ronnd, 
Hoping a loophole may l^e fonnd 
Whereby from durance to escai)e, 
But nowhere does deliverance gape ; 
The cross-l)arred window's latticed shape, 
(Tear outlined on the chilly moon. 
But mocks him nigh into a swoon ; 
It seems so slender, though so strong. 
It coidd not surely take him long- 
To V)reak the thin impediment 
When frenzy giant strengtli has lent — 
Then in a moment would he be 
Hi the outer world, at large and free. 
Fierce jDurpose di'ives his terrors out, 
He springs aloft with ringing shout 



TIU<: CONVICT. 

And clanking- chains ; with furious clutch 
lie grasps the bars ; their rusty touch 
(xives gi'eater hope ; he strives to rend 
Their iron clasj) ; they will not bend ; 
Tliough with a madman's force he shakes. 
Not e'en one slender hindrance breaks ; 
His blue lips foam; the hot sweat ])ours 
Adown his face ; with rage lie roars ; 
Breathes curses inarticulate, 
Then tiercel y rails upon his fate ; 
And leaping down, raves to and fro. 
Bereft of hope, stark mad with woe. 
And long his furious mood prevails. 
Until exhausted nature fails ; 
Then, prostrate fallen npon the fiooi'. 
All sense is lost; he knows no more. 

Amid the dewy hours of morn. 
While golden rays the world adorn. 



THE OONVK^r. 58 

And life uoes sweetly, blitlisomelv, 

T see a sadly ominous tree 

Hear hideous fruit, which, swaying- slow — 

A human pendulum, to and fro. 

Marking the slowly moving houi's — 

Tells of the fate that overpowers ; 

The doom which Justice, stern and blind. 

Wreaks on the slaver of his kind. 



54 SLEEP. 



SLEEP. 

When toil has wearied head or Jiand. 

'Tis then, O Sleep, thou art my friend : 
I yield me to thy intluenee bland. 

And thon my waning 8tren,i>,th dost mend. 
When eares sit heavy on my heart. 

When Sorrow's spectre doth appal, 
'Tis thou, O Sleep, that dost impart 

The balm that heals me of them all. 
When life at last too weary grows. 

By age and every ill distressed, 
Peath, whirh is sleep, shall give rex)ose. 

And e'en the weariest shall be blest. 



iviY HAUNT. r).^ 



MY HAl NT, 

'Neath droojnng elms whose shnde is deep; 

Niii"h limpid waters half-aslee]) ; 

Where no molesting sound may eome ; 

Where insects drowsily do hum ; 

Where breathes tlie In-eeze snlxlued and mild 

And softly sing the warblers wild ; 

There let my haunt and refuge be, 

And thithei" let me often tiee. 

There on the velvet sward Idl lie, 
Th]"ough leafy screens peer at the sky ; 
And as the lazy fleeces pass 
I'll dream upon my coiicli of grass ; 
From evei'y strife and care aloof, 
Shall tender fancy weave her woof ; 
Till rapt and lulled my spirit feels. 
And sleep my willing senses steals. 



56 THE LONELY GRAVE, 



THE LONELY GRAVE. 

One evening as the twilio-lit fell, 
And softly rang tlie vesper bell, 
I sauntered from the village dell ; 
Till greenest tields around me spread 
A elovered carpet to my trend, 
And fragrance Hew from leaf and blade 
By zephyr's unseen lingers swayed ; 
While dewy freshness drove away 
The memory of the sultry day. 
Then through the silence dim and deej:) 
I heard the sleepy nestlings pesp ; 
And from the distant brooklet's How 
Uprose a murmuring sweet and low 
That seemed to thrall the dream v sense 



THE LOIVELY GRAVE. 

And banish care and troublings thence ; 
And so in mihlly musing- mood 
I wandered on in solitude. 

But soon my x>ath with awe I found 

Had led me nigh a lonely mound, 

Where one was slumbering 'neath the ground; 

With not a stone at head nor feet 

'I'o break the loneliness complete. 

Nor on that lowly pyramid, 

Amid the rank-grown herbage hid, 

Rose there a bush with blooming dower, 

Xor S2:)rang to sight one modest flower ; 

The narrow and upbuilded space 

Was mantled deej) in emerald grass, 

And dark its melancholy hue 

Through gathering night fell on the view. 

Then much I marvelled who might lie 
Thus lonely 'neath the darkening sky ; 



'>>> THE LONELY GKAVE, 

Unguarded from the general Held 

Where mowers soon their scythes would Aviekl 

Within this spot where man and brute 

C^ould trespass with a lawless foot. 

And ti-jimple o'er the moldering heatl 

Of tlie unmourned, forgotten dead. 

Perchance, I thought, some beggar old. 
Who had no friends — for lack of gold, 
(Or crooked sire or withered dame, 
Their pauper burial were the same) ; 
Or else some miser, mean and base, 
A scandal to the common race ; 
Some murderer, with bloody hand, 
Whose very name affrights the land ; 
Perhaps a robber, bold and gay, 
The terror of the travelled way. 
Or who into their dwellings broke 
To plunder men ere yet they woke ; 



THE LONELY GKAVE. 

Or hei'e, beneath his fellows' ban, 
May rest a sad self-nmrdered man ; 
Mayhap some traitor — worst of all — 
Intriguer of his country's fall ; 
Or- one who tempted wives away, 
Or tanght the innocent to stray ; 
Or who shall say 'tis not some maid, 
Keviled and scorned, by man betrayed. 

T gave my fruitless musings o'er 
And went more sadly than before ; 
I left in their forsaken rest 
The bones dishonored and unblest ; 
Yet gave not up my curious quest 
Lintil some soiil the truth confessed. 

Xo criminal or tarnished name 

\Vc!s buried there, but lustrous fame ! 

The hands, now crumbled all to mold, 



<>n THE LONELY GRAVE, 

Tn days of wealtli had scattered gold ; 

'Phe heart, now turned to ashes, loved 

All men with love it daily proved ; 

No creature e'er its lord coidd meet 

But had its warm, fraternal beat ; 

That busy brain ne'er failed to toil 

To aid his brethren in the moil ; 

But he who all his life had striven 

To serve mankind and live for heaven — 

The benefactor of his race — 

Obtained a nameless burial place. 

The fawners that on rich men live 

To this man poor had nought to give — 

Not e'en a plain memorial stone 

To tell his virtues, flaunt their own; 

His deeds of love and goodness past, 

No longer than his breath could last. 

They found him dead one bitter day, 

Houseless and homeless, and where he lay 



A GHASTLY DREAM. 61 

They buried liim with vulgar haste 
Of tlio; e who have no time to waste ; 
Nt)i*, lest it niiiiht their Inight spades rust. 
Let fall one tear above his dust. 



A GHASTLY DREAM. 

It was a ghastly dream, O true Horatio ; 
T would not wish to have its like again 
Amid the night's deep watches ; and, indeed. 
T could not well endure it. Methinks I saw 
A still, vast sea — so silent that the grave 
Would be a Babel to it — and there sat 
LT23on this sea, w^hose waters never stirred 
Nov made a sound, a little, moveless boat, 
Of oars devoid, whose idle sails hung down. 
Waiting for winds that nevermore should blow 
Upon that endless waste ; and the hot sun 



62 A GHASTLY DEEAM. 

Witli lurid glare slione mercilessly down, 

With rays sent plum!) upon the bare, soorehed 

head 
Of one sad, thirsty man, who lay and gasjDed 
\¥ithin that craft as fishes gasp on land ; 
Too feeble e'en to fan his fevered brow^ ; 
His throat too j)arched and close to let the groans 
Creej^ from his bursting breast ; his lips all black 
xls if with putrid stain ; his features wan 
And worn to sharpest shapes ; his eyes bulged 

forth 
With horror of his fate, and his swollen tongue 
Hung starkly from his mouth. Helpless, dying. 
Without hoi)e he lay, and dark shapes mocked 

him, 
Making his plagues far worse. I sought to see 
Who such a wretch might be — when, lo ! 'twas 1 1 
And I awoke in sweaty, trembling fear 
From that appalling, dark and ominous dream. 



TO THE SEA. 



68 



TO THE SEA. 



T stand ux)on thy brim, 

Tntermina]>le sea, 

And see thee stretching dim, 

Sig-n of Eternity. 

The sl^ies above thee bend, 

Unfathomable blue, 

And with thy far edge blend 

Where thou art grey of hue ; 

And fleecy clouds cast shadows on thy breast, 

Where sleep the waves in an untroubled rest ; 

And o'er thy surface run 

Gold streakings from the sun, 

And on thy shore, 



';4 TO THE SEA. 

With mellow roar, 

Light ripples ponr 

White ridged with foam ; 

And the peaceful dome 

Echoes the water's musical notes, 

Sweet as the strains from warblei-s' throats. 

Soft as the tones of the trembling string 

'Neath some fair maid's mild fingering. 

Yet thou art treacherous, Sea ; 

Though now thou slumb'rest still, 

Soon shalt thou rise resistlessly, 

In fury, fierce of will ; 

Thou shalt be wild uptorn 

In the stern tempest's path. 

Thy surge majestic borne 

Shall beat the strand in wrath ; 

And venturous barks that sailed thy glassy plain 

Shall find their doom upon the raging main ; 



TO THE SEA. ^5 

'i'liy l)illows slmll arise 

To gulf their trembling ])rize, 

With awful roar 

Thy l^reakers hoar 

Shall cover o'er 

The wailing crew. 

Too late that rue 

Their trust in thee and vessels frail, 

Which fore thy might i-elentless quail ; 

And thou, once smooth as meadows spread, 

Shalt sepulchre the stilled dead. 



6^ 80NG. 



SONG. 

I wish I had the peace of old, 
Before of life I'd made a test; 

When glittering metal all was gold, 
And life's delights I took with zest. 

There is no grain of recompense 
In knowing more, enjoying less ! 

We learn, we leave a darkness dense. 
But, seeing clear, more care confess. 

Ah, hours of ease and careless dreams !— 
As one who climbs a barren height 

And sees rich meads whereon the beams 
Obliquely cast a mellow light, 



SONG. t^'? 

I back do turn my longing glance 

On ye oases fair of time ; 
The visions there my soul entrance, 

Till I forget awhile to climb. 

Too soon the cloud, or gathered night. 
Or need to move, doth shut ye out ; 

And ruder scenes possess the sight ;— 
That life is real I may not doubt. 



08 THE OLD MAPLE. 

THE OLD MAPLE. 

Broad and hip:\\ its boughs were lifted, 
Rustling in the playful air ; 

Through its leaves the sunlight sifted 

O'er the sward, and ever drifted 
To and fro, and flickered there, 

' Mid the shreds of moving shade 
On the meadow's canvass drawn 
By the restless hand of dawni. 

And the even's fingers staid. 

And beneath it maid and lover. 
On the summer afternoon. 

Scenting the sweet-smelling clover. 

Talked their love and future ovei- 
Till the rising of the moon ; 

Watched the orb of day go down 
Bathing boughs in rosy flame, 
Till the milder moonlight came 

Silvering the leafy crown. 



SOEKOW'S MOCKERY. <'9' 



SORROW'S MOCKERY. 

Buried 'neatli the ghastly snow, 
Many weary years ago, 
Still I know thy lonely bed 
Fy its arching drift o'erhead, 
Which the swaying, soughing pine 
Sweeps in rhythmical incline, 
With its coney besom hung 
As of wintry yore it swung. 

And I halt beside thy mound, 
Vainly listening for the sound 
Of thy once enrapturing voice. 
Bidding me again rejoice 
'Mid the poignance of my woe ; 
But I hear the drifting snow 
And the crunching of the tree 
Answering in mockery. 



70 WE WATCHED THE COWS A-GKAZING. 



WE WATCHED THE COWS A-GRAZING. 

Once liotly in the cloudless sky 

The summer sun was blazing, 
While, seated 'neath a branching elm. 

We watched the cows a-grazing. 
For black-nosed Bell and wliite-foot Nell 

And Sue of crumpled horn, 
Upon the -clover of the mead, 

All dewy from the morn, 
With eager appetite might feed, 

But must not nip the corn. 

Oh, soft and pleasant was the sound 

Of rustling boughs above. 
The dreamy rapture of the land 

Attuned the heart to love. 



WE WATCHED THE COWS A-GRAZING. 71 

While black-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell 

And Sue of crnmpled horn, 
Upon the clover of the mead, 

Quite dewy from the morn, 
With dainty appetite did feed, 

Yet shnnned the standing corn. 



But when the heart is over-full. 

Lips aye must lisp their tale, 
So we with tender speech of love 

The moments did regale. 
While black-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell 

And Sue of crumpled horn, 
Upon the clover of the mead, 

Ftill dewy from the morn, 
With fickle appetite did feed, 

And eyed the tempting corn. 



Then on our simple, silly souls 
A sweet oblivion fell, 



: WE AVATCHED THE COWS A-GRAZING. 

And trust and dnty were forgot 

In lover's enchanting spelL 
Then bhick-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell 

And Sue of crumpled horn, 
Forsook the clover of the mead, 

Yet dewy from the morn, 
On sweeter, stolen food did feed. 

And mun(died the luscious corn. 



Thus once in summer long ago, 

While the sun was fiercely blazing, 
Beneath the branches of the elm 

We watched the cows a-grazing. 
But black-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell 

And Sue of crumpled horn 
No longer grazed the clovered mead, 

All dewless since the morn. 
But, of their careless watchers freed. 

Despoiled the precious corn. 



THE DYITsCi 3I1NER. 



THE DYING MINEK. 

Vpon the moimtoiii side lie lies 

E'en at his latest gasp ; 
The world grows fainter to his eyes, 

The gold slips fi'oni his clasp. 

Around, the wild and rocky peaks 

Stand silent near the sky ; 
His weak and wandering vision seeks 

Some human form to spy. 

Far fi'om the homes and haunts of men 

His eager feet had plied ; 
He braved the grizzly in his den. 

The red man's rage defied. 



74 THE DYING MINEIl. 

He sought on liill, in vale and glen 

To wrest earth's golden store, 
He gathered countless wealth, and then 

He sank to lise no more. 

When friends are far and heart doth fail. 

When death is closing o'er, 
Not all the riches can avail 

Which princely coffers ponr. 

His filmy orbs can scarcely view 
The mountains' towering height ; 

Fast turns to black heaven's cloudless blue. 
And all things 'scape his sight. 

All sightless, dying, hopeless, lone, 

Thus ends his sateless greed ; 
Forsaken 'mid the desert, prone, 

With none to soothe his need. 



TPIE DYING MINER. 75 

He dimly dreams of days gone by, 

VVlien chary fortune gave 
Hard toil and want, yet love was nigh 

To cheer him and to save. 



He knoAvs that in one village home, 

A thousand leagues away, 
Was his ere he began to roam, 

Will beat for him alway. 

One loving heart so true and fond, 
'Twould yield its life for him. 

Nor ever through the great beyond 
His image there grow dim. 

Oh, had one droj) of sweet content 

But tinged the cup of life. 
Their souls had now in bliss been blent — 

A happy man and wife. 



rilK DYING MINER. 

But lie despised a drudging fate, 
Contemned his hands of horn; 

lie yearned to rise to richer state. 
And viewed his rags with seorn. 

With warm and eager hope he went 

To rudest scenes afar ; 
The glorious tide of youth he spent 

Tn lucre's sordid war. 

Swift crex)t his manhood's sturdy prime. 

He would not brook defeat. 
But strove amain, while hurrying time 

Went by each year more fleet. 

His raven hair grew streaked with gi'ay. 
His bronzed face grew seamed 

With scars and wrinkles, and the ray 
Of his bright eye was dimmed. 



THE DYING MINER. 

In vain all earnestly lie toiled, 

The prize still fled liis hand. 
Still flrkle fortune lured and foiled 

And wrecked him on her strand. 

Long since had heart and hope been lost. 

Sweet memories, too, grew faint ; 
Ah, wealth must come at bitter cost, 

Nor hastens at our plaint. 

Yet still he roved and sought as one 

By haunting dreams pursued ; 
Where'er his wayward path did run 

He felt his hope renewed. 

Ended at last in rich reward 

His long and lonely quest ; 
Earth's treasuries oped; but, ah ! ill-starred 

Too late his wish was blest. 



78 THE DYING MINER. 

N'ow, midst the solemn wilderness, 

He lays him doAvn to die. 
Devoid of soothing love's caress, 

Unwept by any eye. 

His misery's brief; a tender thonght 

From out the olden time 
Within his soul deep peace has wrought, 

Unmarred by worldly grime. 

And 'mid that gentle ecstacy 

The broken spirit's fled 
From all its earthly agony, 

And the baffled miner's dead. 

Beneath the heavens the bleaching btnies. 

With useless gold anigh, 
A moral tell, in louder tones 

Than any preacher's cry. 



APPLE BLOSSOMS. 79 



APPLE BLOSSOMS. 



In snowy fragrance on the bonghs they cluster, 
Fair apple Wossoms of the teeming Spring, 
Fruit's promises, all honey-laden, 
At whose o'erbrimming goblets sips the bee 
To surfeit, ere he wings his lagging way 
Undeviating to liis hive; and in wliose depths 
The humming bird, of flashing, })urnished plume, 
Poised in the sun, on ever-whirring wings. 
Dives his long bill, keen taster of the sweets; 
While the wandering and imjjatient wind 
Ravishes their petals, and, with wanton hand. 
Strews the white flakelets on the dark green grass, 
Thence blowinsr odorous over field and lawn. 



80 UNSATISFIED, 



UNSATISFIED. 

In the warm, cheery days of my youth 
I sought for the blessing-s of earth. 

And deemed I had found them in truth 
In the chambers of revel and mirth. 

These palled and I thought that in wealth 
' Twere better for solace to trust ; 

But avarice, working by stealth, 
The gold of my nature did rust. 

I aimed for the laurels of fame. 
And fate did my strivings endow ; 

But a blot fell black on my name, 
And the wreath withered swift on my brow 



UNSATISFIED. Hi 

T grasped for tlie learning of time 
In the tomes of the ages confined, 

Yet found howsoe'er I might climb. 
Truth still soared too high for the mind. 

When love strove my soul to allure, 
I was charmed for a space with its wiles ; 

But falseness my folly did cure, 
And h)ve now no longer beguiles. 

Thus found 1 the blessings of earth 

Illusive as dreams of the night, 
Naught lasting in beauty or worth, 

Naught giving a solid delight. 

So then from these shadows I turn, 
And cease from the resolute quest ; 

Yet ever my being shall yearn 

For the good that shall make it blest. 



82 UNANSWERED. 



UNANSWERED. 

Oh, why should the strength of mortals 

In a moment pass away, 
Like a brittle reed that's broken. 

Or a shattered vase of clay ? 

And why should pleasure be transient, 
Like deAvs of dawn on the grass, 

Or shadows of summer fleeces 
That swift o'er the meadows pass? 

Or why should love e'er be fickle 
And the tender heart grow cold 

That burned with divinest ardor 
In the rapturous time of old ? 



UNANSWERED. ^'^ 

Say why should riches be fleeting, 

Like the fast, unstable stream 
Whose waters beside our pathway 

But an instant glide and gleam ^ 

And why should the intellect weary 
Of its learning broad and deep ; 

Why sickens it of the harvest 
Thought's active sickles reap? 

Or why should the fancy falter 
When it soars to noblest things, 

Like the dove that drooping, baffled, 
Forevermore folds her wings ^ 

And why should virtue e'er dally 
With the sin the spirit scorns, 

And change for a tattered mantle 
The raiment that life adorns 'i 



S4 UNANSWERED. 

Or why should the pearl of honor 
In the marts be cheaply sold, 

And conscience lightly be bartered 
For a tarnished gift of gold i 

Ah, why should the laurel wither 
On the imperial brow of fame. 

And noblest lives be blighted 
By the Upas breath of shame ? 



MY DAUGHTER. 85 



MY DAUGHTER. 



Peerless amid girls, 

Little daughter mine, 

With soft eyes that shine 

Like pure molten pearls ; 

And a smile that lights thy face 

With a sweet, cherubic grace ; 

And musically prattling speech 

Like tuneful ripples on the beach ; 

With a dainty-outlined shape 

Angel gauze alone should drape ; 

Fairy features, hands whose mould 

Ne'er were vied by art of old ; 

Feet as fair as sprays of fern 

When the leaves of autumn turn ; — 

All these are thine infant charms, 

Which may heaven guard well from harms ; 

Until thy growing soul these features shall 

pervade 
With lasting beauty spiritual, Oh, thou little maid. 



HH UPON THE SEA. 



UPON THE SEA. 



The waves are dancing blithely, 

The wind is blowing free, 
My bark tugs at its mooring 

As if 'twould loosened be ; 
E'en like a fettered creature, 

It longs to glide away, 
Once more to taste of freedom, 

Once more to wildly play ; 
Upon the ocean's bosom 

To curvet and to roam, 
And cleave with living pleasure 

The waters flecked with foam. 



UPON THE SEA. «7 

Lo ! now the keel is sliding 

Along the grating sand ; 
Ye cannot keep the sea-bird 

Imprisoned on tlie land. 
And now she's bravely floating 

As buoyant as a fowl 
That rides upon the sea-crest 

When wrathful tempests howl ; 
And like the wings of eagles, 

Her snowy sails expand, 
And like a dart she's speeding 

Far from the arid strand. 

The distant shore is fading, 

Its murmurings are low ; 
The ocean's mighty vistas 
'' Upon my vision grow ; 
The swelling surge is swirling 

Around the rushing keel, 



8H UPON THE SEA. 

And drunken with her gladness 
My merry bark doth reel ; 

The spray is leajiing madly, 
It vaults above the mast, 

And ere it falls in showers 
My bounding bark is past. 

Out, out into the ocean, 

My vessel bears me on, 
Till every glimpse and glimmer 

Of hated earth is gone ; 
Until the salty breezes 

Revive my powers faint, 
And from my rusted spirit 

Is swept the worldly taint. 
Oh, ne'er a fate so dismal 

While yet I live be mine. 
As not to skim with rapture 

The broad and bluey brine. 



THE DIKGE OF RED KOBIN. ^-^ 



THE DIRGE OF RED ROBIN. 

Munnur a dirge for Robin, 

Red Robin lying dead 
On the bier of the meadow, 

With a daisy at his head. 

For scarce a month of summer 
Poor Robin tuned his llute, 

And sweetly piped his rapture, 
Yet now he's stark and mute. 

Aloft the crow is Hying 

And hoarsely sounds his tune 

The swallow's restless pinion 
Fans all the realm of June ; 



!HI THE DIKGE OF TIED ROBIN. 

'Pile bobolink is trilling 
His measures on the spray. 

The yellow bird clear-voicing- 
Sings all the golden day ; 

The humming bird is poising 
Beside the blossom's cup, 

Bee and butterfly disputing 
The pleasure of its sup ; 

And every grove is ringing 
With careless warblers' song : 

But Robin has no mourner 
In all the happy throng. 

Why are the birds all joyous. 
When, dearer than them all. 

Loved Robin 's 'neath the daisy 
Asleep beyond recall ? 



THE unliftp:u veil. 

oil, sadly chant for Robin, 
And mourn liis mellow llute ; 

The lields have need of music 
Now he is stark and mute. 



THE UNLIFTEI) VEIL. 

P^rom all these human lives 
Could we but lift the veil, 
And know how each one strives 
In earth's o'er-crowded hives. 
Would not our spirits quail '. 

'Neath fair appearance' mask 

» Oft dwells an anxious pain ; 

Who seem in bliss to bask, 

Too proud man's help to ask, 

By hidden grief are slain. 



■ 'v YE THOUGHTS OF MAN. 



YE THOUGHTS OF MAN. 
HY yp: baud of eld. 

A man his thoughts, what mote tlieie he 
Than these a titter coiniDagnie i 
Ne ])etter comrades could one see. 

For tlioughts be frisky, tliouglits be still. 
E'en as a man his mind hath will. 
And vacant space they aye do till. 

When other friends would trouble thee 
With rant and rout and revelry, 
There's lazy cheer in reverie. 

Give thoughts full welcome, ye who lind 
That folk displease liow'er so kind, 
And ye' 11 have pleasantness of mind. 



now CANST THOU BE WRETCHED^ U'A 



^'HOW (^4NST THOU BE WRETCHED i" 



How canst thou l)e vvrctclied when Natnre tlius 

sniilinii'. 
In new-kindled life with her snnshine and green. 
And new tones of gladness, is ever l^eguiling 
Thy heart from its soitow% dejection and spleen ( 

Behold the broad ])eanty of levels and nionntains, 
Steej^ed in the glory shed down from the sky : 
Hark ! the sweet murmnrs of earth's Hashing 

fonntains, 
The silver-voiced birds and the breeze Hitting by. 



'••4 now CANST Tllor BE WKETt'IIED ^ 

All Speak of joy unbounded and lasting ; 
Taste of the universe' pleasure, 'tis thine; 
Why at Clod's banquet of bliss art thou fasting; 
'Tis thine own loathly spirit that maketh thee 
pine. 

Up! l)e thou cheerful, 'tis Nature that bids thee — 
Nature that utters a mandate divine ; 
List to her solace, of anguish she'll rid thee. 
And happiness' tendrils around thee shall twine. 

Oh, 'tis the heart too often that seeketh 

To fashion its woes from the mist of its dreams. 

And make of the breast a dim dungeon that 

reeketh. 
When the world is most bright in l)lissfulness' 

beams. 



THE COMING STOKM. 95 



THE COMING STORM. 

Tlie trend of the sea on the e(li2;e of the shore, 
A pale, broken Hash and a far-eehoed i-oar. 
And the tliick. inky masses i>,'athei'ini>' oVi- — 

The threat of the storm. 
A i2:h)o]n, not of night, pervading the air, 
The wind's litfnl bhists, and motionless tliei-e 
In the height of the heaven the eagle at rest. 
Daring the beat of the storm on his crest, 

Mist-mantled his form. 

Remote, reefed sails on the dark, ])nrple main, 
Drowned in the grey, misty march of the rain — 

The storm host's sweep. 
Whose fast-falling feet now dimly emerge 
From the far-away line of the water's verge. 
Beating flat down the white caps of the surge 

And hiding the deep. 



OG DECORATION DAY. 



DECORATION DAY. 

stars and stripes, earth's fairest l)aiiner, wave 
To-day more proudly still thy graceful folds 

AhoA^e each green and decorated grave, 
That in its depths a moldering hero holds. 

To each low mound let grateful spirits bring- 
Bright floral gifts as to a sacred shrine ; 

With lavish hands symbolic blossoms fling. 
Fair, fresh and sweet their fragrant memoi-y's 
sign. 

When treason drew against the nation's life 
A venomed blade, at menaced freedom's cry 

These fearless sprang amid the deadly strife. 
With patriot zeal to battle and to die. 



DECORATION DAY. t)T 

They saved tlie land, tliey set the hondaged free ; 

This mighty realm no more shall traitors sevei' ; 
Here shall the throne of lustrous freedom be, 

Revered and firm, forever and forever. 

All honors pay to those who shimhei' here, 

Scant yet were all to meet their glorious meed ; 

Their fame shall thrive to fond remend)i'ance deal". 
Till hearts shall cease for truth and right to 
bleed. 



98 SPRING. 



SPRING. 

The winter's spell dissolving, 
Earth's icy fetters break ; 

Once more the waters glisten 
On rill and river and lake. 

Once more the wild flowers venture 
To swing their fragile bells 

Beneath the naked branches 
Where budding life now swells. 

Once more the emerald carpet 

Is spread on every field, 
And in the visible verdure 

Creative life's revealed. 

The winds more mildly blowing 
Replace hoar winter's breath. 

And warmer sunshine falling 
Dispels earth's sleep of death. 



WOIISE THAN POVERTY. *»9 



WORSE THAN POVERTY. 



Oh. cold are the winds of Wintei' 

When Poverty's doak is torn. 
And fuel and food are lacking- 

To the body old and worn ; 
When each furious gust 
Blows the snow like dust 

Through the crannies of hovel and liut, 
And the keen-stinging air 
With famine doth pair, 
And misery and care 

Like beggarly phantoms sti'ut. 



!<)•> WOESE THAN POVEKTV. 

But ril tell thee a worse, 

A more terrible curse 
Than to starve and to freeze and to ache 

'Tis when there's an end 

In the world of a friend 
To do and to dare for thy sake ; 

Then well may thy breast 

Be pierced and oppressed, 
And thy spirit be palsied and quake. 




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